Chapter 12 No Way I'm Letting You Go
Daniel froze, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Even if he burned the divorce papers, she would never let go of the idea of leaving him.
The lust in his eyes drained away in an instant, replaced by a cold, cutting edge. His fingers clamped around Scarlett's jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Lying in my bed, not wanting me… who are you thinking about?"
Scarlett's eyes glistened red as she stared back at him.
"Anyone but you! Get off me!" Her voice wavered, her nose stung. She remembered the nights she had waited for him, only to be left alone, staring at an empty room.
Now, with divorce looming, she had finally let go. And yet here he was, stirring the embers she had worked so hard to extinguish.
Her whole body recoiled, tears shimmering dangerously.
Daniel's handsome face darkened, his eyes locked on hers with suffocating intensity. Just as Scarlett felt herself drowning in the storm of his gaze, he rolled away and lay back.
Relief washed through her, but it was tinged with a hollow ache. She shut her eyes, forcing herself toward sleep.
Silence stretched on. Just when she thought he had drifted off, his voice cut through the dark, cold and deliberate.
"Scarlett, we're not getting divorced. Stop dreaming."
Her breath caught. She opened her eyes, staring into the black for a long moment before whispering.
"I miss the way you used to be…"
She missed the Daniel who had been gentle, who had held her like something precious, who had shielded her from the world.
She wanted to find that Daniel again.
And she feared that if they went on like this, they would lose even the warmth of those memories, until nothing remained but strangers.
Her voice was soft, almost fragile. Behind her, Daniel said nothing.
She thought he hadn't heard—until a moment later, the wall between their beds gave a muted knock.
Her eyes stung instantly.
He had been with Alice, their names splashed across headlines. She had held back her tears then. She had held them back when she decided to end the marriage. But now, the dam broke silently.
Her mind drifted back to when she was eight. She had nearly been beaten to death, left with deep psychological scars. Daniel had carried her to The Wilson Mansion. From that moment, she trusted only him, clung only to him.
Magnolia had placed her bedroom next to his. When nightmares clawed at her, she would scream and cry, and Daniel would come running, gather her in his arms, and soothe her until she fell asleep against his chest.
Even with therapy, her condition never improved. One night, Daniel rolled over in his sleep and kicked something unfamiliar, his skin crawling. He switched on the light to find Scarlett sitting on the floor, clutching a pillow, a lump swelling on her forehead, tears trembling in her eyes.
He had only been fourteen then, already prone to a short temper. He nearly lost it, scowling as he carried her back to her room.
The next day, she was there again—hesitant to get close, curling up at the foot of his bed when he found her, biting the corner of her pillow to stifle sobs.
Eventually, Daniel had a bed placed next to his, separated by a barrier. But even then, she would slip into his bed at night.
His sleeping habits changed from sprawling carelessly to lying still, as if he had learned to guard the space beside him. The most unruly boy in Shadow City spent his teenage years with a girl's bed in his room, playing reluctant caretaker.
No one would have believed it.
For over a year they slept like that, until one morning Daniel, face like thunder, scooped her up—blanket and all—and dumped her outside his room. No amount of crying or pleading softened him.
After that, they had separate rooms, but hers was still pressed against his, headboard to headboard.
Every night before sleep, she would knock on the wall. He would knock back. They would say goodnight, until he left to study abroad.
From eight to ten years old, those were their closest years.
But sibling closeness fades with age. Distance grew. He went abroad, his world expanding into something vibrant and unreachable. She chased after him, but was pushed further to the margins, until one night at eighteen shattered everything.
Still, she remembered the sound of his knock—three slow raps, then one quick tap. It had always meant: Sleep now… I'm here.
And tonight, that rhythm carried the same promise.
Yes. He was here.
Just not loving her the way a husband should.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Perhaps he hadn't heard her reply.
He knocked twice more. Slowly, she raised her hand and tapped the headboard.
In the dark, someone sighed.
Daniel reached out again, pulling Scarlett into his arms. Her cheek pressed against the broad plane of his chest. This time, she didn't fight.
She was soft, obedient.
Like the Scarlett who used to cry in his arms.
"Be good. No divorce, alright?"
His voice was low and rough, lips brushing the crown of her head.
Her tears soaked into his shirt. She said nothing.
Her courage was spent. She didn't even know if this was another act.
On the nightstand, Daniel's phone vibrated.
He shifted, and Scarlett immediately wrapped her arm around his waist.
His hand threaded through her hair, stroking gently.
"Sleep."
Her eyes closed, her breathing evened out.
A moment later, the faint rustle of movement. The phone's screen lit, quickly shielded by his palm. Scarlett didn't stir.
He pried her arm away, eased out of bed.
Phone in hand, he stepped into the dressing room. Minutes later, dressed and composed, he slipped out the door.
In bed, Scarlett opened her eyes, staring into the void outside the window.
She had seen it—Laura, Alice's agent, had sent him a message on Facebook.
She hadn't tried to stop him. She knew it was useless.
She had tried before. The scars on her feet hadn't even healed. Why humiliate herself again?
Downstairs, the roar of an engine. Scarlett moved to the window.
Rain, held back all night, poured down in sheets. A black sedan cut through the mist, vanishing along the mountain road.
Her beloved Daniel, rushing to Alice in the storm.
Liar.
He had tricked her into sleeping, only to leave.
Scarlett turned and went to the dance studio—the one Daniel had built for her as a child, fitted with the best soundproofing.
She chose a pounding track, ripped her skirt and collar, and spun wildly.
She danced until her muscles screamed, showered, and returned to bed, too exhausted to sleep.
His scent lingered on the sheets, irritating her.
She checked her phone. Past 2 a.m.
Her stomach churned, the bitter taste of the tonic rising again.
Why was she suffering while that bastard enjoyed a midnight rendezvous?
She searched "infertility," leaving inquiries with Daniel's number before curling up on the sofa.
Morning brought calm skies. The servants had already cleared the storm's debris.
Scarlett ate breakfast and was about to head to Dream Dance Training when Blair called out.
"Elliot's teacher sent notes and papers. Take them to him, help him study. I'm going to an art exhibit, so you'll be with him all day."
"I have plans."
Blair cut her off, irritation sharp.
"What important plans could you possibly have? Elliot likes you. If you won't help him when he's sick, fine—but you can't refuse something this small. Who do you think you're letting down?"
Driver Eli entered to say the car was ready. Blair hurried out.
A servant handed Scarlett a tablet. She went upstairs to print Elliot's materials.
Entering the hospital wing, she stopped short—Alice stood ahead with Laura.
Laura's bag slipped, spilling its contents. A sheet fluttered to Scarlett's feet.
She bent down, eyes locking on the words: Pregnancy Report.
Patient: Alice. Gestational age: six weeks.
Her fingertips went cold. Six weeks—Daniel had just been away on a trip then.
"Scarlett, give that back." Alice stepped forward, snatching the paper.
Scarlett stared, her mind blank, lips trembling. Her voice was dry.
"Is the baby Daniel's?"
Alice passed the report to Laura, her expression soft with maternal glow.
"Daniel loves this baby. He even named a star after it—Snowfall. Sounds beautiful, doesn't it?"
Scarlett's throat felt crushed, her face pale.
"But don't worry, Scarlett. I won't force him to divorce you. Daniel is the most responsible man. I'm not greedy. His love and our child are enough."
Alice smiled, fingers brushing the jade bracelet on her wrist.
Scarlett felt as if her chest had been split open, sand pouring in.
No wonder one Facebook message had sent him into the storm. Alice was pregnant.
He had given her the Wilson family's jade bracelet—already recognizing her as his wife in his heart.
Was Alice still holding a grudge over what happened four years ago? Were they still fighting?
Scarlett bit down hard, forcing a nod.
"People have their choices. If you want to be a mistress and have a bastard child, that's your business."
She told herself that since she was divorcing Daniel, his life with Alice was no concern of hers. She could be composed.
Mistress. Bastard child.
Alice's nails dug into her palm. Her gaze followed Scarlett's retreating back. She laughed coldly, then called out.
"Scarlett, aren't you divorcing? Isn't that a ridiculous thing to say?"
Scarlett stopped dead, turned to face her.
Daniel had already told Alice about the divorce?
So eager.
Scarlett stepped closer, towering over Alice. She reached out, touching her head.
Alice stiffened. Scarlett's smile was sharp as she patted her cheek.
"You said we're divorcing—which means we haven't yet. Until then, I'm Mrs. Wilson. And no mistress gets to mock me."
She patted Alice's cheek again. The gesture was light, but Alice suddenly shrieked, stumbling to the side.
"Scarlett! What are you doing?"